I soon noticed that Jesse had a preference for picking up travelers who were staying at the Western Star. It had something to do with the woman who ran the place. She was young, not much older than Jesse, with curly dark hair and warm brown eyes. She always seemed to be in motion, whisking in and out of the building to serve tea to guests on the porch or water the flowers in the window boxes. She waved to Jesse when she saw him, but he was too shy to talk to her.
One hot summer day, she called out to offer him a glass of lemonade. But he just tipped his hat in thanks, then cracked his whip to get me moving as if a pack of wolves were chasing us.
It was plain as the stripe on a skunk that he was sweet on her. But it seemed he’d spent so much of his life among miners, rough riders, and railroaders that he had no idea how to talk to a young lady. Something had to be done about this, I decided.
The very next afternoon we picked up a man with a silver-topped cane who asked to be taken to the Western Star. I knew the name by now and set off at a brisk trot before Jesse even gave me the signal.
“I always stay at the Western Star when I’m in Sacramento,” said the man. His high, honking voice reminded me of a goose flying south for the winter. “Best hotel in the city. Not that it’s much as compared to New York, mind you. Ever been to Manhattan?”
“No, sir,” said Jesse. “I haven’t been east of the Mississippi since I was a boy.” He seemed distracted today. He signaled for me to walk on just as an eight-mule stagecoach was crossing the street in front of us. Luckily, I had the wits to resist the flick of the buggy whip until the coach passed.
“Who’s the young lady who runs the place?” Jesse asked the passenger.
“Her name’s Alice Larkin, but everyone calls her Miz Alice,” said the man. “Maybe they don’t like to remind her of the husband she lost.”
“What happened?” asked Jesse, turning me down Main Street.
“The pair of them used to run the hotel together, but he joined a camp that was blasting the gold out of the hills with dynamite, and got himself killed in an explosion. She’s been running the hotel by herself ever since.”
Jesse drew me to a halt in front of the Western Star and helped the passenger carry his three heavy suitcases to the door. I stood patiently at the curb, resting one hind hoof while I waited. I hoped he’d talk to Alice when she answered the door. But Jesse barely paused to accept a tip of a silver dollar from his passenger before hurrying back toward the carriage. Would he never work up the nerve to introduce himself?
Just then, I noticed that the gate to the hotel’s backyard was swinging wide open in the breeze. And wouldn’t you know it, a dog barked across the street at that very moment, startling the living daylights out of me. I believe it must have been quite a large dog, although I didn’t see it.
What could I do except bolt, carriage and all, through the gate into Alice’s backyard? I swept under the row of clean white laundry hanging up to dry. Aprons and pillowcases rained down around me. A billowing sheet caught in the wheels of the carriage, bringing me to a halt.
Jesse came running a moment later. “Don’t know why I ever called you Lucky Penny,” he said through gritted teeth when he caught up with me. “You’re a bad penny through and through.”
He grabbed a basket from nearby and began collecting the clothes. Once he gathered every sheet, apron, and stocking, he drove me around to the front of the building. He removed his hat and took a deep breath before knocking on the door of the Western Star.
Alice answered a moment later, a broom in her hands. Jesse began to speak at once, stumbling over his words. “I’m real sorry, Miz Alice, but my durn—uh, pardon me, ma’am, my disobedient horse has most rudely run through your laundry.”
Alice looked at Jesse, at me, and then at the basket full of muddy sheets. Her dark eyes were wide with surprise. Then suddenly she tossed back her head and laughed. She kept laughing until she had to dab at her eyes with a hand-kerchief. It might have been the only clean scrap of fabric she had left.
“Seeing as I’m going to have to spend this afternoon on the washing, the least you can do is join me for a cup of tea while I work, don’t you think?” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Jesse agreed quickly. He looked like he couldn’t quite believe he wasn’t getting a scolding.
Alice came over to the edge of the porch to stroke my face, pushing my forelock away from my eyes. She traced the line on my forehead that separated the white hair from the gold.
“I keep seeing this horse of yours parked outside the hotel,” she said. “Her coat is so pretty, like a golden map of the world…. But you’re always so busy that I never wanted to interrupt you to ask her name.”
“It’s Penny,” said Jesse. It seemed like he wanted to say something else, but he opened and closed his mouth without saying anything. He began to fidget nervously with the brim of his hat.
“Is it true that you rode for the Pony Express?” asked Alice.
Jesse looked startled.
“I heard the ladies at the post office say so,” she explained, blushing a little.
“Yes, Penny and me both,” said Jesse, and I heard a note of pride in his voice.
“How exciting!” said Alice. “You must tell me all about it. I trust that Penny can entertain herself in the yard for an hour? Now that she’s helped with the laundry, perhaps she could weed the garden….”
I had to stay in the yard for longer than an hour, because Alice invited Jesse to stay for supper. But I didn’t mind a bit. Call it a mare’s intuition, but I knew those two had just needed a nudge in the right direction.
Six months later, Jesse and Alice were married—and I was back to being Lucky Penny again.
“I hope there’ll be sharpshooters,” said ten-year-old Jack, kicking me into a jog.
“And horse races!” said his eight-year-old sister, Cora, holding tight to his waist. The children rode double on my bare back as we headed to the fairground at the edge of town.
Thirteen years had passed since the day I trampled Alice’s laundry into the mud. She and Jesse had moved back across the plains to Omaha, Nebraska, where Alice’s family lived. Here, they opened a new hotel together. Buckeye Jack spent most of his time in a rocking chair on the front porch, whittling a scrap of wood and recalling his days as a prospector to any guest who would stop to listen.
I was an old mare now, but my luck hadn’t run out yet. Jesse’s two children still rode me to school every morning. And I wasn’t too old for a little adventure. Sometimes, on the way home from the schoolhouse, Jack and Cora would ride me around behind one of the music halls downtown. One of them would hold my bridle while the other stood up on my back and peered through the window, trying to catch a glimpse of a cabaret show.
For weeks now, the children had been chattering about something called Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show. Colorful advertisement posters hung on every flat surface in the city, and now it had finally come to town.
When we reached the fairgrounds, I saw that the infield of the racetrack had been turned into a kind of circus arena, filled with covered wagons, tepees, and a raised stage with a painted backdrop of a desert sunset. The grandstand was filled with people, and the crowd spilled onto the track. The smell of popcorn and salted peanuts filled the air.
Jack and Cora rode through to the infield rail. The crowd grew hushed as a mustached man stepped onto the stage. He wore a tasseled buckskin jacket and leggings, shining leather boots, and a wide-brimmed hat.
“I saw a lot of things in my days as a scout on the range and had my share of adventures,” he said in a drawling voice that seemed to fill up the big field. “Maybe some of you have read about them in Ned Buntline’s fine writing about my life. Today, my aim is to bring a little bit of that excitement to all you eastern city slickers—and anywhere this side of the Rocky Mountains is the East to me. I hope you folks enjoy the sho
w!”
Loud, tinny music began to play, and the performance began. First, a Mexican ranchero did rope tricks that ended with him standing up on his galloping horse’s back to lasso a calf. Next, a knife thrower sent a dozen blades whistling through the air, filling a distant target with them like quills on a porcupine. After that came bronc busters, steer wrestlers, and buffalo riders. The children clapped and whistled in delight. I watched with interest, too—I had never seen anything like it before.
A petite young woman wearing a long calico dress stepped onto the stage.
“I hope she’s not gonna sing a song,” said Jack, fidgeting impatiently. The woman picked up a rifle that was leaning against the edge of the stage. Buffalo Bill appeared at the far end of the arena, holding a bucket filled with balls of colored glass. He threw one up into the air.
The woman aimed the rifle, and the glass ball exploded. One by one, she shot the entire bucketful out of the air. Soon the grass was covered in rainbow-colored shards. Then she shot a playing card out of Buffalo Bill’s hands, and finally a silver dime that he held between two fingers.
“And you say girls aren’t good shots!” Cora said smugly to her brother.
Somewhere out of sight, I heard a familiar bugling sound. Buffalo Bill took center stage again and addressed the crowd. “Back in my days on the Pony Express, we made a promise to get the mail from St. Joseph to San Francisco in ten days or less,” he said. “No threat from man or beast or nature could stop us. Each brave rider paused only long enough to replace his tired horse with a fresh one before he started on the next leg of the journey….”
The bugle sounded again. A rider on a bay mustang came galloping into the arena. The horse was wearing a mochila over its saddle. I trembled with excitement. The mail must go through! Quick as a jackrabbit, I leaped over the rail of the racetrack fence. Jack and Cora shouted in surprise but hung on tight.
As fast as my stiff joints would carry me, I galloped over to the Pony Express rider, cutting in front of the horse that was approaching from the other direction. I halted in front of the first horse and rider, ready for the mochila to be passed.
“What in tarnation?” cried Buffalo Bill Cody, his face darkening into a scowl.
“I—I’m sorry Mr. Cody, sir. We didn’t mean to disturb the show.” Jack pulled hard on my reins, trying to make me back away from the stage.
But I dug in my hooves. I knew my job. Then Cora cried, “Penny remembers! Penny remembers that she carried mail for the Pony Express!”
Buffalo Bill Cody’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Then he turned to the rider on the bay mustang. “Well, don’t just stand here gaping!” he called out. “We’ve got to stick to the schedule!”
Buffalo Bill stepped forward and lifted the children down from my back. I wasn’t wearing a saddle, so the rider unfastened the mustang’s girth and swung the whole saddle, mochila and all, onto my back. He cinched it up, and Buffalo Bill swung Jack and Cora back aboard.
“San Francisco’s thataway,” he said with a wink, pointing to the far end of the infield. Jack kicked me into a gallop, with Cora holding tight to his waist. The crowd cheered as we carried the mail off toward the late-afternoon sun that blazed low in the western sky.
The next act began, and Jack and Cora rode me back to watch from the sidelines. “You kids are born for show biz,” said Buffalo Bill when the performance was over. He gave Jack a fancy silver holster for his cap gun, and Cora a red glass ball like the ones the lady sharpshooter had shot out of the air.
“Bet I could hit that glass ball from a hundred paces,” bragged Jack as we rode home.
“Don’t you dare try it,” said Cora. “I’m gonna get my own cap gun and practice until I can shoot as well as Annie Oakley.”
The ground tingled under my hooves. A shrill whistle split the air. The five o’clock train from Mt. Pleasant was right on time. It hurtled across the prairie toward us, its cars clattering along the tracks. Black smoke poured from its tall nose and its wheels crushed a branch that had blown across the rails.
But I wasn’t scared of the train anymore. I had built the road it traveled on, and I knew that it only went straight ahead in an endless line.
“Let’s race!” said Cora. Her bare heels pressed into my sides. I sprang into a gallop and ran alongside the bellowing train, close enough that I could have reached out and bitten it. I caught a glimpse of startled-looking people pointing at us through the windows. A little girl pressed her nose up against the glass and waved.
I kept pace with the train all the way into town. It ground to a screeching halt when it reached the station, but I kept galloping past the platform with my head held high. A real horse could beat the iron horse any day.
THE AMERICAN PAINT HORSE
Spanish settlers first brought horses to the Americas in the 1500s. Some escaped and formed wild herds. Others were captured and tamed by Native American peoples, particularly the Plains tribes. Mexican cowboys called rancheros also captured wild horses, breeding and raising them on large cattle ranches in what is now the southwestern United States. Some of these horses had a striking coat pattern of white combined with patches of another color. The terms paint, pinto, and painted horse have all been used for horses with this coat pattern. Today, pinto refers to the color only. Paint refers to a specific breed, the American paint horse.
Each horse’s temperament is unique, but many paint owners say their horses’ personalities are as bold as their looks. Paints are known for being intelligent, trainable, sturdy, and sometimes a little mischievous. Just like Penny!
THE GOLD RUSH
In 1848, the United States won the territory of California in the Mexican-American War. At the time, fewer than a thousand nonnative settlers lived there. On January 24, 1848, James Marshall found flakes of gold at Sutter’s Mill on the American River in Coloma, California. And there was more of it—much more.
When news of the gold reached the East Coast, tens of thousands of people packed up and went to seek their fortunes. These pioneers were later called the forty-niners, after the year that most of them arrived. Many of them traveled overland by covered wagon on the Oregon, Mormon, and Santa Fe trails. Some sailed around the tip of South America. Still others sailed to the Atlantic coast of Panama in Central America, then crossed Panama by foot or horseback and set sail to California from Panama’s Pacific coast.
Gold-seekers also came to California from China, Chile, Australia, and other countries. At first, different groups of people worked side by side without much disagreement. But as gold and supplies ran out, Chinese miners were forced to pay extra fees and were often treated badly. The gold rush was devastating for the Native American peoples of California as well. Settlers introduced deadly diseases such as smallpox. Mining and railroad companies drove away animals and destroyed plants the Native American peoples relied on for food, making it impossible for them to keep their traditional ways of life.
The gold rush changed the landscape of California. From 1848 to the mid-1850s, an estimated 300,000 people moved there. Small settlements such as San Francisco and Sacramento grew into major cities. California became the thirty-first state in the Union in 1850.
THE PONY EXPRESS
People in the western states wanted news from the East, and they wanted it faster. Letters sent by steamship took about a month to reach California. Sending a letter by stagecoach was a little faster, but it still took twenty-four days to reach its destination, and sometimes was delayed for months.
In 1860, three business partners named William Russell, Alexander Majors, and William Waddell decided to do better. They already owned a freight service called the Central Overland California and Pike’s Peak Express Company. But their mule-drawn stagecoaches weren’t fast enough for the service they imagined. Instead, they would use a team of relay riders on horseback to deliver the mail from St. Joseph, Missouri, to San Francisco, Calif
ornia, in just ten days. The finished Pony Express trail ran for 1,900 miles through Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska, Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, Nevada, and California, with an initial 157 relay stations along the way.
The company bought more than 400 animals for the service. Most were not ponies but horses: swift Thoroughbreds to cover the long eastern stretches of prairie, and tough mustangs to cross the Rocky Mountains, the Utah–Nevada desert, and the Sierra Nevada on the western part of the route.
On April 3, 1860, the first two riders set out. A crowd gathered in the streets of St. Joseph to see off the westbound rider, Johnny Fry. Exactly ten days later, the mail reached Sacramento. The Pony Express was a success!
The last Pony Express rider delivered the mail on November 20, 1861. In the nineteen months it existed, the Pony Express made 308 runs, delivered 34,753 letters, and lost only a single mochila. The most famous piece of mail carried by the Pony Express was President Abraham Lincoln’s first inaugural address, on March 4, 1861.
The Pony Express Museum in St. Joseph, Missouri, has a collection of original Pony Express items like mochilas, advertisement posters, stamps, and letters. Every June, members of the National Pony Express Association hold a reenactment ride. Over a ten-day period, for twenty-four hours a day, 750 members gallop their horses in a relay along the original route, passing a mochila between them. Each rider takes the same oath as the one the riders took in 1860. They don’t stop until the mail has been delivered, keeping the Pony Express promise.
BUFFALO BILL’S WILD WEST
William Cody was born in Iowa in 1846. His father was an antislavery activist with many enemies. On one occasion, young Bill Cody had to ride for thirty miles in the middle of the night to warn his father of a planned attack. Later, he worked as a scout and spy for the Union army during the Civil War. In his autobiography, Cody claimed to have ridden for the Pony Express, although there is no record that he did.
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